Wilde Hopps: Hunger Pains
by marian-ette92
Summary: Nick Wilde will have to use all his cunning in order to obtain a midnight snack, as Judy Wilde is fast asleep in his arms.


Although he'd woken with a start, Nick Wilde's dream had not entirely left him. His mind clung desperately to the strange parade of images still playing like an old film reel against his eyelids: a restaurant, laughter, roses, Judy (he smiled) …

… Jack Savage.

Never mind, he was awake now.

He blinked aggressively, trying to orient himself, and, slowly, reality began to seep back in: the firm bed beneath him, the whirring fan in the corner of the room. Suddenly he groaned. Amidst his awakening senses, he realized in a twist of pain that he was absolutely starving. Had he fallen asleep before dinner _again_?

Mind still foggy, his body took the wheel. _Food … hungry … burrito_. He sat up.

Well, he tried to, anyway, but something, a weight, was pinning him down. He made a second attempt to no avail.

 _Heavy … warm … Judy?_ A single eye peered down the length of the bed. Sure enough, the slumbering form of Judy Wilde was curled up against him—on top of him, actually, as if he were the mattress. Apparently this bed wasn't big enough for the two of them.

He grunted irritably. But as his gaze wandered slowly over his wife's sleeping figure, her long, velvet ears, her tiny pink paws, and that ever-twitching nose, which he teased her for as often as he could get away with, irritation soon succumbed to a wave of deep affection. He sighed, leaning forward, and he relished the kiss that he planted on her head.

But he still wanted that burrito.

Like the facts of a case, he analyzed his options. The first one was obvious—he could simply roll her off. This would get him three things: first, a foot to the face (she had a tendency to kick involuntarily if her sleep was disturbed); second, yes, a burrito; and third, a significantly crankier Judy in the morning. Hmm. The numbers were against him.

Not to mention … well … she was just so stinking _cute_ right now. Eyes rolling towards the ceiling, he resigned himself to Plan B.

Placing a paw against the headboard, he cautiously levered himself upright, holding Judy miraculously steady with his other paw. Then, cradling her against him as if she were a cub, he pivoted himself clockwise with his feet and lowered them silently over the side of the bed.

Now for the tricky part.

It wasn't a question of whether or not he could carry her. He was certain he could; he'd done it dozens of times, even slung her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes once (not a good day for him). The challenge would be carrying the rabbit for that _long_.

 _Let's see … one-and-a-half minutes to the fridge, grab burrito. Hold Judy with one paw … burrito in other … stairs again:_ it all came down to about eight minutes. Pssh, he could do it. She was light, sort of. And if he needed to take a quick breather on the couch mid-trip, maybe turn on Jackal Bond or Mission Impossumble (no sound, of course), well, there were worse ways to spend the night. Judy might not even notice she'd been relocated.

Conscious of the wooden floor's every complaint, Nick cringed as he crept across the room. At least foxes were gifted with impeccable night vision, otherwise he'd have light as well as sound working against him. He allowed himself to breathe again only when he'd entered the carpeted hallway.

He made the climb down the narrow stairway with surprisingly little difficulty, a paw placed on the back of Judy's head to keep it from rolling back. Meanwhile, she continued to take in deep, peaceful breaths, her ribs expanding and contracting against his arms. As Nick moved through the living room, he found himself wondering what Judy's dreams were like. Did she dream about work? Previous cases? … Previous boyfriends? His mind retched at the idea; he certainly hoped not. It was infuriating enough that Savage invaded his own sleep, but the idea that he'd managed to creep into _hers .._. It was too much to think about. Would they never be rid of that upstart hare? he wondered.

His stomach gave a rather loud gurgle, then: _burritoooo._ His mind quickly apologized— _burrito, of course, what was I thinking?_ —and it gladly abandoned its miserable musings.

They were in the kitchen now, if the tiny space could even count as one. Neither Nick nor Judy were particularly gifted chefs, so as they'd perused the internet for affordable homes, they'd decided a large kitchen was something they could sacrifice. And they certainly had; Nick had to sidestep to fit himself and his bundle between the counter and the fridge.

As he reached for the handle, he closed his eyes tightly, as if that might somehow block out the sound of suctioned plastic. It didn't, and Judy flinched ever so slightly at the noise and the light. But her breathing evened out again, and Nick blew out a thin stream of air.

The burrito, Wednesday's leftovers, was waiting for him on the second shelf. He braced himself for the shift in weight, freed one of his paws, and with it picked up the aluminum-wrapped meal. He didn't even bother heating it up, just made for the stairs as quickly as he could.

She was starting to slip by the time they reached the hallway, which he easily could have fixed with a sharp upward heave. But they were so close, and he'd been so careful. He'd hate to jostle her awake now. So, as they crossed the room, nearing the bed, he gently tossed the burrito onto it, and secured the dozing rabbit with the same paw.

He stood there like that for a good minute or two. He'd made it, the spoils of the excursion waiting for him somewhere in the covers. But the longer he stood there, the less willing he was to let her go. He'd been suddenly taken by an impression that, somehow, none of this was real; if he went back to sleep, she'd vanish in a puff of smoke and he'd be back in his boiler room, alone, come morning. The idea was unbearable, and he looked down at her to reassure himself.

One of her paws had gathered a wad of his shirt, the other paw pressed against the side of her face. He could feel her fur beneath his paws, and he stroked it far from absently. Well, phantom or not, she seemed real enough now—but on the slight chance that she wasn't, he was going to make the most of it.

Stepping towards the bed, he climbed back into it, lowering them both into a horizontal position. His tail came up to wrap around their bodies, trapping their warmth, and, he hoped, this pretty phantom. Then he let exhaustion take him, his hunger quite forgotten.

"… Did you get anything for me?"


End file.
